In the immediate area, there were a few sticks of rudimentary furniture: a table, two chairs, a stool, a slop pail in the corner, close to what looked to be the end of a sluice pipe, and a narrow wooden cot pushed against the wall. On top of the cot could be seen the vague shape of a human form covered by a threadbare woollen blanket.
The apothecary approached the cot. He straightened, as if to gather himself. Bring the candle closer, Mr Leech, if you please. He turned to Hawkwood. I must warn you to prepare yourself.
Hawkwood had already done so. The pervasive scent of death had transmitted its own warning. At the same time he wondered if the dampness in the cell was a permanent phenomenon or solely a consequence of the previous nights deluge. He could hear a faint tapping sound coming from somewhere close by and concluded it was probably rainwater dripping through a hole in the ceiling.
Locke lifted the corner of the blanket and pulled it away. Even with Leech holding the candle above the cot, in the dim light it took a second or two for the ghastly vision to sink in.
Hawkwood had seen the injuries suffered by soldiers. Hed seen arms and legs slashed and sliced by sword and bayonet. Hed seen limbs shattered by musket balls and hed seen men turned to gruel by canister. But nothing he had seen could be compared to this.
The corpse, dressed only in undergarments, lay on its back. The body appeared to be unmarked, except for one incontrovertible fact.
It had no face.
Hawkwood held out his hand. Give me the light.
Leech passed over the candle. Hawkwood crouched down. From what he could see, every square inch of the corpses facial skin from brow to chin had been removed. All that remained was an uneven oval of raw, suppurating flesh. The eyelids were still in place, as were the lips, though they were thin and bloodless and reminded Hawkwood of the body hed examined first thing that morning. Unlike that corpse, however, this body still possessed its tongue and teeth.
Beside him, the apothecary was staring at the corpse as though mesmerized by the epic brutality of the scene. Reaching for his handkerchief, Locke polished his spectacles vigorously and perched them back on his nose. From what I can tell, the first incision was probably made close to the ear. The blade was then drawn around the circumference of the face, with just sufficient pressure to break through the layers of the epidermis. The blade was then inserted under the skin to pare it away, separating it from the underlying muscle in stages. The apothecary grimaced. It would be rather similar to filleting a fish. Eventually, this would enable him to peel and lift the entire facial features off the skull, probably in one piece, like a mask Locke paused. It was skilfully done, as you can see.
Where the devil would a parson pick up that sort of knowledge? Hawkwood said.
The apothecary looked puzzled. Parson?
Priest, then. Reverend Tombs isnt that his name?
The apothecary stiffened. He turned and threw a glance at the keeper, his eyebrows raised in enquiry. The keeper reddened and shook his head. The apothecarys jaw tightened. He turned back. I fear there has been a misunderstanding.
Hawkwood looked at him.
Locke hesitated, clearly uncomfortable.
Doctor? Hawkwood said.
The apothecary took a deep breath, then said, It wasnt the priest who perpetrated this barbaric act.
Hawkwood looked back at him.
Reverend Tombs was not the murderer, Officer Hawkwood. He was not the one who wielded the knife. He couldnt have done. Locke nodded towards the body on the cot. Reverend Tombs was the victim.
3
The apothecary looked down at the corpse and gave a brief shake of his head, as if to deny the bloody reality that lay before him.
I confess, we took it to be the colonels body at first. It seemed the obvious conclusion in the light of Mr Grubbs assurance that hed escorted Reverend Tombs out of the building, or at least the person he assumed to be the reverend. It was only when I made a closer examination that I became aware of the deception. Unfortunately, wed already sent word to Bow Street by then. I had thought, wrongly, that Mr Leech had informed you of the error upon your arrival.
Locke lifted the corpses arm by the wrist and traced a path across the unmarked knuckles. The colonel had a scar across the back of his right hand, just here. He told me it was the result of an accident during his army service. It was quite distinct and yet, as you can see, there is no scar. The apothecary let the arm drop back on to the cot. This is not Colonel Hyde.
But it is the Reverend Tombs? Youre sure of that?
Locke nodded solemnly. Quite sure.
Did he have scars too?
Hawkwood couldnt help injecting a note of sarcasm into his enquiry. To his surprise, Locke showed no adverse reaction to the retort but stated simply, As a matter of fact, he did. The apothecary met Hawkwoods unspoken question by pointing to his own cheeks and jaw, the areas of the corpses face that had been excised. The worst of them were on his face. Here and here. The minor ones are still visible there behind his left ear, if you look closely.
Hawkwood turned to Leech. You escorted Reverend Tombs to the room? What time was this?
Itd be about ten oclock, Leech said. It were still rainin cats and dogs.
After you left him, what did you do?
Leech shrugged. Finished me rounds, went back upstairs.
And the key?
Left it on the ook in the keepers room with the rest of em.
And this Grubb, hed have taken the key to let the priest out?
Leech nodded. Thats right. The attendant pointed to a bell cord hanging in the corner of the room. Soon as he eard the bell ring, hed have been on is way.
And Grubb noticed nothing untoward?
Leech shook his head. E never said. I saw im when I came on again this morning, before Adkins told im about the colonels tray not bein touched. Asked him how things had gone and e said thered been no problems. The parson rang the bell. Grubb collected him and escorted him out.
Ill need to speak with Attendant Grubb, Hawkwood said.
Locke nodded. Of course, though he is still convalescing.
Convalescing?
He suffered a seizure when he discovered the body. Fortunately it was not as serious as we first feared. He is feeling rather frail, however, and has not yet returned to his duties. I can take you to him.
Hawkwood nodded and looked around the room. Has anything been moved, Doctor?
Moved? Locke frowned.
Put back in its place. Is this how it was when Grubb found the body?
I believe so, yes.
Hawkwood stared at the iron rings set into the wall above the bed. He had a sudden vision of Norris, the patient chained to the wall by his neck and ankles. He walked towards the table. In the centre of it lay a chessboard. From the position of the pieces, the game was unfinished. Hawkwood picked up one of the figures a white knight. It was made of bone. Hawkwood had seen similar sets before, carved by French prisoners of war imprisoned on the hulks. It wasnt uncommon for such items to appear in private homes. There were agents, philanthropists who acted on behalf of some of the more skilful artists, offering to sell their carvings on the open market for a modest, or in some cases not so modest, commission. He wondered about the provenance of this particular set as he took in the rest of the items on the table: two mugs and an empty cordial bottle. He picked up the bottle. Curious theres no sign of a struggle.
Locke blinked.
Look around, Doctor. Not a chair overturned, not so much as a bishop upended or a pawn knocked out of its square. Doesnt that strike you as odd? You think the man just stretched out and allowed himself to be butchered? He was already dead before that was done to him. He had to be.
Locke looked pensive. I found no obvious signs of injury to the body other than the trauma damage to the face, of course which suggests the cause of death could have been suffocation. A sharp, swift blow to the stomach, perhaps, to incapacitate, followed by a pillow over the face. Death would occur in a matter of minutes; less, probably, if the victim was already gasping for air.
So he smothered him, then mutilated him? Well, thats certainly a possibility, Doctor. So tell me: where did he get the blade?
The question seemed to hang in the air. Locke went pale.
Im assuming there are rules about patients owning sharp objects, knives and such? Hawkwood said.
Locke shifted uncomfortably. That is correct.
Not even for cutting up food?
That is done by the keepers.
And razors? What about shaving?
The difficult patients are secured. Those of a more placid disposition are looked after, again by the keepers, usually with a pot-boy in attendance.
Hawkwood saw that the apothecary was clenching and unclenching his hands.
What is it, Doctor?
Locke, clearly agitated, swallowed nervously. Its possible that I may have ah, inadvertently, provided Colonel Hyde with the opportunity to procure the ah, murder weapon.
Oh, and how is that?
Cowed by the look in Hawkwoods eyes, the apothecary started to knead the palm of his left hand with his right thumb. It looked as if he was trying to rub a bloodstain out of his skin. There were occasions when I was called upon to attend the colonel in my ah, medical capacity.
Really?
Nothing too serious, you understand: a purgative now and again, and there was the lancing of an abscess a month or so ago. The apothecarys voice faltered as he realized the significance of the confession.
So youd have had your bag with you?
Yes.
Which would have contained what, exactly?
The usual items: salves, pills, emetics and suchlike.
And your instruments?
There was a moments pause before the apothecary answered. When he did so, his voice was close to a whisper. Yes.
Your surgical knives, with their sharp blades? Because youd need a knife with a sharp blade to lance an abscess, wouldnt you, Doctor? Hawkwood said.
The apothecary glanced towards Leech, but there was no sympathy on the attendants face, merely relief that someone else was in the firing line.
Hawkwood pressed home his attack. Thats what happened, isnt it? At some time during one of your visits to remove a boil from the colonels arse, he managed to steal one of your damned scalpels.